


We'll take a cup of kindness yet, although there's only venom

by Builder



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eddie Brock Whump, Fever, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Pronouns for Venom Symbiote (Marvel), New Year's Eve, Other, Protective Venom Symbiote (Marvel), Sickfic, Vomiting, body roommates, venom learns about the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 19:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17249924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Eddie shakes his head.  Laughs.  Coughs till he almost gags."Eddie.  He’s bad.  We want his head."For an instant, Eddie thinks his mouth is watering in hunger.  Then he realizes he’s going to vomit."No, we don’t.” Eddie’s glad the power is out so he doesn’t have to see what color he’s spitting up this time.  "Just some dumb fuck…  It’s a thing…“ he mumbles.  "New Year’s Eve…”





	We'll take a cup of kindness yet, although there's only venom

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @builder051
> 
> Art by yours truly
> 
> I have complicated feelings about shipping Veddie. But in a nutshell, I don't believe two entities can share a body and not become fond of each other, emotionally and physically. But I'm way more open to exploring the emotional side in fic form.
> 
> Oh, and happy New Year.

“Geez,” Eddie mutters, throwing the wadded Kleenex in the direction of the trash can.  He’d toted it out to the living room when his knees started to go numb.  There’s only so much kneeling in front of the toilet a person can take.  He’d gagged over it a few times, but in the hour since, it’s become a repository for disgustingly wet tissues.

Eddie drags his sleeve under his nose, grimacing at the pearlescent smear of mucous left on the fabric.

**_Eddie._ **

“Fuck.”  Eddie jumps and almost chokes on the strings of sour-bitter still clinging to the walls of his throat.  "What?’

**_We’re at war._ **

Eddie stares at the bare bulb under the ceiling fan until his eyes burn.  He shuts them hard, clenching his teeth and scrunching his forehead before he relaxes again.  A fresh wave of throbbing nausea washes up from his gut and down from his sinuses.  "What?“ he repeats.  Spewing bodily fluids alone on the couch isn’t what he planned for New Year’s Eve, but Eddie’s pretty sure that’s what he’s doing.  All he’s doing.  But then again, crazier shit has happened.

**_Our body is at war._ **

"Oh.”  It’s hardly more than an exhale, but it turns into a hack.  Eddie throws his arm over his face, his breath gusting hot on the inside of his elbow.  Clammy sweat breaks out there and on his upper lip and the back of his neck.  He gets a vague mental image of The Magic School Bus, of all things, floating through shades of red and pink while animated immune cells stick it to prickly invaders.  There was purple stuff, too, he thinks.

**_Eddie._ **

He senses Venom’s confusion, but he isn’t equipped to do anything about it.  Not right now.  Spit pools under his tongue, and he sits up to hastily heed his body’s warning.  Eddie leans over his knees, hanging his head over the trash and letting the saliva run silently into the bed of tissues.  He half expects it to be an artificial grapey shade, but it’s clear.  Until he retches, then it’s yellow.

**_Eddie._ **

“Fucking Christ,” Eddie sputters.  "What?“  He dry heaves once, then throws himself backward, tipping his head against the couch cushions.  Vertigo catches up a few seconds later, and he fixes his eyes on the light again, refusing to blink even when they start to water.  He imagines a tide rising like a biblical flood threatening to spill past his lower lids, Noah’s ark bobbing violently on the surface.  Eddie feels seasick enough; it doesn’t seem like too far a stretch.

He exhales.  Swallows.  Reconsiders.  He’s pretty sure he’s gone nuts.

**_Strange things happen in times of war._ **

A swirl of shiny blackness rises from the region of Eddie’s collar and carefully rearranges the hair stuck to his forehead.  The sensation is like being dabbed with liquid marble, but Eddie appreciates the gesture.

"Yeah, I…”  Eddie sighs.  It’s not his firs choice of metaphor, but at least it seems to mean they’re past the need for a biology lesson.  But still.  "Maybe you’re right.“

**_Rest.  Heal._ **

"Yeah, yeah…”  

Eddie’s nose starts to run again.  He extends his arm toward the tissue box.  It’s a good two feet too short to bridge the distance to the coffee table, but he’s not keen on the idea of sitting up.  Venom flows from his fingertips and wraps around the cardboard box like a gentle boa constrictor.  He sets it on Eddie’s chest and nudges his cheek.

“Thanks–”

There’s a loud, echoing crack.  The apartment goes dark.

It jars Eddie so much he claps his hand over his mouth, an instinctive just-in-case to back up his convulsive swallow.  His heart thuds against his ribs, which suddenly feel too high and too closed.  He’s just bones and mush now, like a cartoon of a lightning strike.  His body will come back when the lights flicker on.  Right?

But they don’t come back on.  Another gunshot rings out, and the street lamp outside the window extinguishes in a shower of sparks.

**_War._ **

“No, hold up–” It’s supposed to be figurative.  Just an analogy from an old kids’ show.  But fantasies from decades past seem to have a nasty habit of turning real.  He has a hazy memory of a woman standing in front of a pile of junk in some outdated clip from MTV.   _Something’s here from somewhere else…_ Eddie doesn’t think Nina had symbiotes in mind, though.

Ninety-nine red balloons all pop at once as the gun fires a third time.

**_Pain.  Hurt.  Bad._ **

The ceiling vibrates, sending the chain dangling from the fan into a rippling dance.  Then there’s a sound like a gong.  Low, heavy, metallic.  Then another.  And another.  And another.

**_Eddie._ **

The upstairs neighbor’s grandfather clock strikes six times before the tense fear leaches out of Eddie’s spine, leaving goosebumps and perspiration.  "Shit.“  He shakes his head.  Laughs.  Coughs till he almost gags.

**_Eddie.  He’s bad.  We want his head._ **

For an instant, Eddie thinks his mouth is watering in hunger.  Then he realizes he’s going to vomit.

"No, we don’t.” Eddie’s glad the power is out so he doesn’t have to see what color he’s spitting up this time.  "Just some dumb fuck…  It’s a thing…“ he mumbles.  "New Year’s Eve…”

**_He deserves death.  We want his head._ **

“I’m not gonna argue,” Eddie rasps.  He finds the box of tissues on the floor and uses his foot to pull it closer.  "You’re… probably right.“  He uses a Kleenex to mop his face and lies back down.

**_We’re not going after him?_ **

”’M tired,“ Eddie says, yawning.  ”’M sick.“  Venom materializes in the hammock between his ribs, curled up in a mound like a cat or a cloud.  "And we’re already at war, remember?”  He pats what would be the head and closes his eyes.

**_Figuratively._ **

“Yeah, but–” Eddie opens one eye to glare at Venom, but instead he sees a Cheshire grin split the darkness.  "Fucker.“

Venom’s smile only intensifies.

**_Right._ **


End file.
